A Full Circle
by RockaRoller88
Summary: An old man from the water tribe lies on his bed at the end of his life, and remembers the beautiful things that brought him to where he is. Tokka!


**A/N:** This idea hit me so fast and so hard, I couldn't keep myself from writing it. I really didn't feel like I had any control over the writing process on this one. Anyways, enjoy!

Disclaimer: I own nothing!

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When she went, so did he, whether he likes to admit it or not.

She was always so free-spirited, so uncontrollable, anarchic, and stubborn. As time clawed at her body with its gnarled, skillful fingers, she acted like she always did. Tough. Stubborn. Willful. She fought against the leathery skin, the failing joints, the stretching muscles. She tried to squeeze her youthful energy between her fingers as though it was made of earth, but everyone knows that its made of water, and the more she squeezed, the more it slipped between the cracks.

Her earthbending practices became draconian even by her insane standards. He would pull her back inside, smiling reassuringly at her, begging her not to push herself. She would react the way she always did, the way that had endeared her to him in the first place, stubbornly, willfully.

It was horrifically unsurprising when she finally pushed herself too far. No one knows exactly what happened, but it took them nearly two days to find her. Her femur was shattered, she had crawled into the brush and had been caught by the icy autumn rains. She shivered uncontrollably, her body wracked with pneumonia, and none of the waterbenders, not even Katara, could flush it from her system.

She had no last words. He sat there, clutching her hands in silence for thirty-seven hours, twenty four minutes and forty three seconds. She was awake, she squeezed back, and that was all they ever needed to say. As the years had passed on, they had felt as though they each had a link to the mind of the other; they knew what the other would say, how they would feel, what they wanted to talk about. They long ago let the beautiful silence take over, communicating by touch, which is how she had always preferred it anyway.

It wasn't until she finally slipped away that he truly understood how abstract life is. Her body rested peacefully upon their dirty, comfortable mattress in the same way it had while she was alive with no discernible difference. He wasn't a man given to crying, but the tears dribbled through the wrinkles etched in his cheeks when he realized that she didn't live there anymore.

He screamed at Yue that night, screamed like he never had before. _He _was supposed to be the stupid one, _he _was the one who was supposed to push past his limitations, _he _was the one whose blistering lack of common sense was supposed to kill him, _he _was the one who was supposed to lie in the bed while she clutched his hand! He wasn't strong enough to die alone, he wasn't strong enough to sit by himself on this side of the threshold.

Six years passed, and he threw himself into the merciful embrace of senility. He helped his daughter, whom he loved desperately, and freely gave advice fueled by the wisdom of his many years. He cracked immature jokes that made his family blush and roll their eyes, he played pranks as though he was a teenager, and he sat atop the wall at Ba Sing Se and watched the sun melt into the horizon without stressing about the future or the past. He loudly spoke to her as though she was right beside him, not giving a platypus-bear turd about the stares this drew. He ate too much and swore too much but loved even more and thanked the Spirits every day that his family cared and visited his senile old self as often as they did.

He was the next of the Four to go, on a gorgeous summer day. He overheard his sister telling them that his kidneys were failing, that his blood was unable to filter itself, that he might go at any minute. His daughter, whom he loved desperately, took her mother's place at the side of his bed when he had said his goodbyes. She held on to him, her face a twisted whorl of battling emotions. She was so much like her mother that it brought thin beads of tears to his eyes. He soon realized that he was in fact comforting her, rather than the other way around. He wasn't sad about the passing of a useless old man, he was ready to unburden those that loved him with his presence. He would wait for them when they became useless as well, when they had fulfilled their roles on Earth.

He closed his eyes and let his mind go. He was lying on the fields outside of Ba Sing Se, the sun was on his face and it drove the cold from him. The grass swayed in the gentle summer wind, massaging his shoulders and caressing his face. His eyes opened, and he saw her cloudy emerald ones somehow focused upon his own. He wasn't sure that he had ever seen her smile like this before, an expression of such unrestrained joy, and she reached for him, her night-black hair fluttering in the breeze. She was young, _so young, _her milky skin so pure and unblemished, her face so beautiful and exuberant. He felt the wetness burst from the corners of his eyes and he reached back for her, extending his weathered, bony hand, only it wasn't weathered and bony, it was smooth, muscled and tan as though it had existed centuries ago. The tears flopped from her eyes as well, but they were so happy, so content, and he wanted to wrap her up in him, wanted to become a part of her, he wanted her piny scent in his nostrils forever, her soft skin, the waxen wetness of her lips against his. He wanted to sob into her perfect shoulder like a child. The sky was so unbearably blue, his existence so unbearably beautiful. He wanted to fall to his knees and give thanks for his wonderful, wonderful life.

"We're... so proud of you, Lin," he whispered.

The woman who was so much like her mother gave a superstitious shiver at the word he used in spite of herself. Lin, who was so much like her mother, who loved her father desperately even though she had never quite had time for his childish sense of humor, wept like the child she hadn't been for a long, long time. She wept at the loss to the world that their passing was, the loss that it was to herself. She wept because they wouldn't be there any more to give her advice, and the world could be so mercilessly confusing and disheartening. She wept because she realized that death wasn't profound, but life was.

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**A/N:**I know, I know, this one is pretty sad, and I don't usually write sad stuff, but I couldn't help myself. I know a lot of fics like this exist, but this one just hit me in the right way and I was writing before I knew it. It's way more... poetic? I guess? than my stuff usually is, so let me know if you enjoyed the way it flows! I'm not entirely sure how I feel about it...

I know, its unlikely that Lin's actually Sokka's daughter, but I will continue deluding myself until Mike and Bryan prove me wrong! Anyway, if I get good feedback from this, I might start a chapter story about how Sokka and Toph came together in my version of the Avatar universe, or I might just start a collection of oneshots. Let me know what y'all want to see from me!

Keep reading!

RockaRoller88


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